Dress Shopping
by Sleeping Sailboats
Summary: Joan needs a dress, and Sherlock is more (or less) than happy to help. One-shot with Joanlock at the end.


"For the love of God, Watson, it's a dress. Think of it as a one-night stand, not your husband: it's okay to hit and miss, just move on to the next. Of course, I know quite a few people with those marital values…"

"Okay, well, first of all, not everyone just 'moves on to the next.' Some people may realize that a bad one-night stand may be the first of many, so they stop having them," Joan rebutted, picking up a tulip pink cocktail number to examine. Sighing with uncertainty, she returned it to the rack. "Who the bloody hell would stop having one-night stands?" Sherlock exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of a few fellow shoppers.

Joan rolled her eyes and bit her lip in thought as she caught of a glimpse of a one-shouldered yellow dress. For a second, she was hopeful, then decided it was too bright of a color. "Second of all, I like to put some thought into it. It's my cousin's wedding, after all." Sherlock snorted, instantly making her give him a defensive frown. "What?" she demanded.

"Oh, nothing. What about this one?"

"Capped sleeves? Really?"

"Fine."

"So what do you find so funny?"

"Not funny, just interesting," he replied, circling the rack, pointing at random dresses, to which she shook her head at each one. "You claim that you're putting so much thought into your attire because it's your cousin's wedding, when in all actuality, you've hardly breathed a word of the said cousin."

He rested his head on top of the rack, looking at her with condescending eyes. "You know who you mostly talk about, Watson?"

"Who?" she huffed.

"The groom."

"Lance?"

Sherlock resumed his circling, nonchalantly feeling the fabric of all the dresses. "Ugh, velvet," he commented with distaste. He looked back up at his companion. "Yes, my dear Watson, Lance. You showed me a picture of the happy couple. He's rather tall, not unattractive, and in good physical shape." Joan raised an eyebrow. "Well, Sherlock, maybe you still stand a chance."

"Very funny. The point is, you seem much more interested in the fact that it's _Lance's _wedding and not your cousin's—her name's Holly, correct?—even though she should be your main focal point, seeing as she's family and all. And, as I stated, in the most heterosexual fashion, Lance can be considered attractive."

"God forbid a man be attractive."

"Let's not act as though there's more to this."

"Look, I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

For the next hour they explored the store, Joan repeatedly saying no to most of the things they found. Finally, she was able to take a few to the dressing room. Sherlock sat in a plush chair, waiting. An employee eventually came by, smiling and offering him a coffee. "Very nice of you to come out with her," she commented, to which he agreed.

"Ugh, she is such a lucky girl!"

"Oh, we're not—"

"Oh sweetie," she giggled. "Don't worry, I understand that. Ever since I started watching 'The New Normal,' I've been absolutely _yearning _for a gay friend!"

Sherlock sat quietly for a minute, contemplating what had just been said. "You are the second person who has mistaken me to be gay today, and I am not appreciative of this. If you'd leave me alone, please, that would be nice."

Pouting, she left, leaving him to his coffee.

"Watsoooon!" he called, draining his cup. "How long does this have to take?"

"You come in and try to put on one of these things!"

"I can, actually. In a reasonable amount of time, too."

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing. Just come out here already!"

Heaving a sigh, she opened the door and stepped out, wearing a silvery, strapless dress that she actually thought she looked pretty decent in. "Well?" she asked, raising up her arms in question. She almost felt embarrassed under his scrutiny.

"Watson?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you come looking for intelligent life?"

"I'm sure as hell not finding any here," she growled, returning to the dressing room. After that, her frustration escalated to another level each time she came back out.

"What, are you Amish?"

"You look like you're low on tips, if you know what I mean."

"Gran, is that you?"

"Pardon my vocabulary, but it makes your ass look like a smashed cake."

"Okay!" she said finally, storming out for the final time, now re-dressed. "We're going to have to try somewhere else." Sherlock's face filled with alarm. "The hell we are!" he retorted. "We've been here for an hour—we're getting something out of this."

Practically exhausted, she flopped into the chair next to his. "Don't be discouraged, Watson," he added, patting her shoulder and getting to his feet. "I actually have just the thing." He disappeared for a few minutes before returning with a gold halter dress. "Where did you find that?!" she cried, jumping out of her chair. "It's gorgeous!" Turns out the great Sherlock Holmes was always right when it came to dresses, too.

It fit, too, something that seemed to rarely happen.

While they were waiting in line, she turned to Sherlock. "So what do you think this whole wedding thing is about, then?" she asked. He cut right to it. "You're putting so much thought into this dress because you're hoping that maybe Lance will recognize his horrible mistake and leave Holly for you, as you have always been attracted to him since you met."

A smile tugged at her mouth as she took this in. "You're insane."

"Your resistance is normal, seeing as you don't even know you feel this way."

"Excuse me?"

"A lot of the time, Watson, my deductions on someone's intentions are rarely on what is evident to the person. Because the truest of all intentions is not what is lying on the surface of one's heart-it's what's probing in the darkest recesses of it."

Momentarily, his words had her lost in thought, then she blinked to clear her head. "Ever the philosopher," she muttered.

They left the shop and were halfway down the street they'd come from when she stopped and grinned. "What?" he inquired, distracted by a shop window. "You're so wrong," she laughed. "You're so, so wrong."

"I believe not, Watson," he argued, facing her.

"But you are."

"Prove it."

She kissed him.


End file.
